


The Best You've Got

by sunspeared



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, gillkink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-19
Updated: 2013-01-19
Packaged: 2017-11-26 01:30:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/645032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunspeared/pseuds/sunspeared
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Porrim's got you undressed to the waist and she's playing with the end of one of your braids, looking at you like she could strangle you with them; but you've got her beat for raw strength, and you both know it. This is her game, not yours, and she's all flash. You keep still for her anyway.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best You've Got

**Author's Note:**

> In a writeparty, someone requested Meenah/Porrim gillkink. I obliged.

You catch her glowing out of the corner of your eye: a flicker here, a flicker there, like a deep-water fish. Porrim's got you undressed to the waist and she's playing with the end of one of your braids, looking at you like she could strangle you with them; but you've got her beat for raw strength, and both know it. This is her game, not yours, and she's all flash. You keep still for her anyway. She drops the braid. 

"Who did you?" you ask, hopping out of your pants and tossing them over her desk chair. her hive is just as messy as it was a thousand years ago--worse than yours ever was--and the memory of sunlight streaming in the windows makes your skin crawl every time. 

Porrim gives you that bullshit half-smile you couldn't stand when you two finally met in person. "Would you like a list?" 

"No, no," you say. "Who did you. Who krilled you?" 

"I don't think this is the time," she says, and pulls off her dress--black, conservative, waste of grist--in one easy movement. You've never trained yourself not to stare at the big chunk missing from her side, because who gives a shit? Porrim wants to be looked at. At some point she must've re-done the tattoos so they worked around the hole; the attention to detail creeps you out. "Or the space. Take off your bracelets?"

You take one off and drop it on the floor. "Not Ampora," you say, because not not even Aranea can say exactly who did it, and it's going to drive you off the deep end until you know for sure. Aranea's too sweet to _push._ This is still your game. "You've got him glubbin' scared." Another bracelet. "Not Nitram or Zahhak. Serket's got murder in her, all you midbloods've got murder in you, but she hasn't got the motive. So who the shell did you piss off?" 

Porrim takes one of your braids again. She pulls it taut like rigging on a ship and walks around you, and it settles loosely around your neck. She jerks you close (you _let_ her jerk you close) and pulls your braid tighter, until you're--not choking, it would take more than Porrim Maryam to choke you, but you notice a second too late that she's got it right over your gills. She has not touched your skin once this whole time, but hell if you're going to let on how much you want it.

"I don't need 'em for breathing," you say. Porrim tongues at her lip ring, and nobody but you would be able to feel the way her hand twitches. Keeping your hands loose at your sides, you watch her face as she gives the braid a yank, closing your gills off completely. "Come on."

It itches, mostly. You try an inhale. It's not too bad, if you keep your gills flat to your neck. "The rest of the bracelets, Meenah," Porrim says.

"You'd better not fuck with my bling--"

"I hold your bling in the highest regard," she says, in the only-one-who-actually-cares-about-placating-Vantas voice, "truly. But it's all hideous, and it would look better on my floor."

When she puts it that way. You toss them to the ground one by one, feeling Porrim test her grip on your hair. She wraps it around the palm of her hand once, then again, reeling you in. The last bangle you've got is as thin around as fishing line, and it hits the ground between you two with a faint tinkle; you're close enough to touch, but she's not gonna give you anything yet. You know her deal. "Not Leijon, not Makara," you say. She eyes up your other braid. Let her glubbin' _try_. "Not Vantas, not Pyrope, sure as shit not Captor. So." Porrim gives your braid a jerk, and now there's hair all up in the frilled bits of your gills, worse than a bone in your craw. Her glow flickers on, off, on, and stays on. You're close enough to feel the little bit of heat she gives off. "Who does that leave?"

"When I alchemitize your medal, I'll make sure it's solid gold," Porrim says. "Congratulations."

"Shit yes, that's what I'm talking about," you say, bouncing on your heels before you can help it. The braid's got nowhere to go but _in._ You claw at it, and then settle; you're not going anywhere anytime soon unless you hack your own hair off.

Porrim runs a finger over your neck right under your gills and looks happy as a clam, and you'd think real hard about decking her if it wouldn't snap her jaw. "What I think you want to know," she says, "is how I died. I'll keep it short." You roll your eyes. She's as bad as Serket, and she knows it. "I'm the Space player, she's the Time player. It took us a half-sweep to light the Forge, while the rest of you were plotting on Prospit and Derse. There were certain--omnidirectional solicitations made."

"And Damara Megido's got no fuckin' brakes."

"That's a way of putting it."

"So, what," you say, "you come at her with a chainsaw, she turns it around and makes you carve a hole outta yourself instead?" She hasn't stopped glowing for a second, her bulge is sticking straight up--your royal self is not averse to taking care of it. Push her a little harder, and she'll snap. You've got this. "You're in the middle of an argument, and she pulls some trippy shit out of her spinal crevice?"

She winches your braid just that much tighter, from uncomfortable to mother _fuck_. "She put one hand on my face" Porrim says, "and one hand on my waist, right here"--she squeezes your side, fingers hitting right between the gillslits--"and you can imagine the rest." Then her fingers slide in, straight into the soft bits, and she takes you to your knees with just that and some gentle suggestion at your throat. "Does that satisfy your curiosity? Do you feel better for the knowing?" 

It's not the braid around your neck she's thinking about. When she guides your face forward to press against her nook you grab her wrist like you're gonna make her stop, and you could. You don't.


End file.
